


Take Flight (I'll Make You Shine)

by textbookMobster



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Chloe is the captain and Victoria is their ace, Everyone is super gay and nothing hurts, F/F, Her super power is that she can slow down time, It's inspired by Haikyuu!! but you don't need to know the anime/manga to read this, Volleyball AU, Volleyball Dorks in Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 20:31:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7121506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/textbookMobster/pseuds/textbookMobster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A slice of life fic about girls who play volleyball.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Flight (I'll Make You Shine)

The first time Max sees Chloe spike a volleyball she's instantly in love.

Chloe is tall and whip-like, with (amazing) arms and (even more amazing) legs that Max can't stop staring at. They are sculpted to perfection and Max wants nothing more than to take a million photos of her and put them on her wall. (Her dorm room is looking a little sparse since she just moved in; with a few Christmas lights and Polaroid pics, she knows she can definitely add some character to her room—it's just a matter of finding the right subject for her shots.)

"Are you here for the tryouts?" a soft voice interrupts her thoughts. Max focuses on the shorter woman standing in front of her, and feels her breath hitch. _Christ._  It feels like she took a wrong turn and ended up in _babe_  paradise. What is it with volleyball and extremely good-looking women?

"Oh, I'm just here to observe," Max stutters. "Max Caulfield."

"Kate Marsh," the pretty blonde says and shakes her hand. The calloused hand gives her pause.

"You play?"

"Sometimes," says Kate. "I'm not very good though."

"Are you kidding?" Chloe raises a hand in greeting and hooks an arm around Kate. "Kate here is good at receiving in a pinch. She's just too pretty for volleyball injuries." She gives Max a once-over and her grin widens. "Kept your promise, I see."

Max tries not to be jealous of Kate and fails miserably. She clears her throat and matches Chloe's grin, "Of course I'd see you again. What are best friends for?" Briefly, she wonders if she made the wrong move, calling Chloe her best friend. They haven't really been in contact as much as Max would have liked, and with so many years apart, she couldn't blame Chloe for moving on.

"Yeah," Chloe lets out a small, breathy laugh. "I'm glad you're here, Max. Really."

Max and Kate stay in the sidelines while Chloe joins the rest of the team for a light jog around the court. Kate is super nice and helpful, pointing out the various members and explaining what their roles are. Max isn't very good with names, but she does her best to listen. "We're holding tryouts for a setter since our last one retired," Kate says, after a while. "Victoria's really good but she doesn't want to give up her position as one of the team's wing spikers." Kate tilts her head, and it takes a while for Max to realize the unspoken question.

"O-oh, well, I've played volleyball a few times, but I wouldn't say I'm good at it," she admits. "Before today, I didn't even know the different positions in volleyball." Max looks down at her battered Polaroid camera. "Photography's more my thing."

Kate brightens at the admission. "I bet you and Victoria would get along," she says. "She's actually here for the photography program."

"And volleyball?" Max asks curiously.

"My second love." Max's neck hurts when she cranes, looking up, _up_. Holy shit. Was anyone in the Blackwell Bluebirds not drop-dead gorgeous?

"You're late," Kate says quietly.

"It's the first day of school, babe. I had _other_  priorities," Victoria snipes back. When Kate simply huffs at her in response, she sighs and crouches so that they're eye to eye. "I'll try not to make a habit of it," Victoria mutters, gaze flickering elsewhere, embarrassed. She gives Kate a brief kiss and shoots Max a glare, as if daring her to say anything. She joins the girls just as they are about to start on their stretches, giving Chloe, their captain, a grudging nod.

". . . So you and Victoria, huh?"

The brilliant smile Kate gives her is all the answer Max needs.

* * *

It isn't until her third visit that Chloe convinces her to try setting.

They've found a few promising candidates, but none have satisfied the coach's ridiculously high standards. Victoria, complaining to a sympathetic Kate, arches a lazy eyebrow at Max. She is wearing Chloe's extra gear, which makes her look even shorter than her modest 5'4" would suggest.

"Just like we practised," Chloe says. The warmth of her hand on Max's shoulder bolsters what little confidence she has. She nods jerkily and takes a deep breath.

It is almost as if she walks into a waking dream.

Chloe is the first to spike, her form on point as ever. They do different tempos until Coach Madsen, Chloe's stepdad, is satisfied with Max's intuition for when to set. She doesn't realize that Coach Madsen has sent her another ball when Victoria is suddenly in front of her, already jumping towards the net. Time seems to slow down as Max watches Victoria's feet leave the ground. Her fingertips touch the ball, and suddenly everything speeds up again. The ball flies off from Victoria's hand (fingers delicate—bony), and everyone is staring at them in shock.

"Ho shit!" Chloe is practically brimming from head to toe with excitement. "Didn't know you could do that! Mad Max, you been holding out on me?"

They try it again, and again, until Coach Madsen is certain that what Max has done isn't a fluke. It isn't until later, after Max and Chloe are sharing a celebratory plate of waffles in Two Whales Cafe that Max learns why the rest of the team are so interested in recruiting her.

"It was like you had spidey senses or something," Chloe says, leaning a little too closely for comfort. "I wasn't even watching the ball for that last spike and you still got it to me just fine. It was hella rad. You joining right?"

Max, weak-kneed at the way Chloe is staring at her, simply nods.

Chloe cheers and reaches across the table to give Max a bear hug. Chloe's hair tickles and her scent is dizzying. Feeling Chloe's lips brush against her cheek, Max thinks, _maybe it isn't so bad—joining the Blackwell Bluebirds_.

* * *

Kate very rarely plays. It is not that she doesn't enjoy volleyball—in fact, she's one of the first few to join in their year—it is just that she loves helping the Bluebird girls even more. Carefully, quietly, she has catalogued their smiles and their frowns, learned their passions and their fears, has listened to their laughter and their scorn. She has cherished them.

Max, bright-eyed and earnest, gives her an opportunity to play once more. Though her sets are frighteningly accurate, Max lacks the experience to play with the team to her heart's content. After practice is over and the rest are dismissed, Kate stays behind with Max to go over the basics. Their captain, always eager to help, is chased away from the court after their first day. (Chloe is more distraction than help though she's hardly to blame; Max looks at her the way Victoria looks at Kate. She wonders sometimes, but does not say a word. Her friendship with Max is still new—still fragile like a glass trinket.)

They mostly work on the form and accuracy of Max’s receive. She has good instincts and is quick on her feet. She is even brave, able to face Victoria’s frightening serves without flinching. But the fact remains that she is rusty, and her receives leave a lot to be desired. Kate having aided beginner players before, puts her to work on a variety of drills, like improving her aim by sending her receives to a nearby container.

“D’you have a second, Kate?”

She looks up from her locker and sees a fidgeting Chloe, loitering nearby. “Sure thing, Chloe.”

“Y’know, Max can’t stop talking about how great you are and how helpful you’ve been to her,” Chloe says after they’ve found a place to sit, away from the bustling halls of Blackwell Academy. “I’m glad she’s making friends.”

“She’s easy to like.”

Chloe gives her a half-smile, the one that Kate knows is genuine. “Yeah, yeah, you can say that.” She wraps an arm around Kate’s shoulder and pulls her close—a gesture of affection from the normally tough-as-nails punk Kate knows so well. “We should definitely hang. Us and Max. You can even bring your bitchass girlfriend,” Chloe says, though her tone suggests that the offer is made in jest.

“Maybe,” Kate says, matching her grin. “Were you hoping to make this a double date?”

“Maybe,” Chloe echoes after a moment’s pause, looking thoughtful for a change.

* * *

“A double date with Captain Hardass and her number one groupie?” Victoria asks much later that day, while they are lounging in the dark of Kate’s room. She feels Kate scowl against her back and laughs, sharp and caustic. “Fine, but I am not playing wingman for our idiot captain.”

“You only need to look pretty, Tori,” Kate murmurs, nuzzling against the nape of her neck, already half-asleep.

“I don’t need to look. I already am.”

* * *

Victoria does more than look pretty for their weekend picnic. She's brought lunch, along with refreshments and a blanket that looks newly-bought. Chloe, who spent more time fretting than she'd like to admit, only manages to bring a few snacks, so she's (silently) grateful for Victoria's foresight. Naturally, Kate and Max are quick to bond over the smallest things, from the curious squirrels scavenging nearby to the perfect way the golden light from the sun hits the nearby copse. (Max takes pictures of Kate who is used to playing muse. Victoria, feigning indifference, steals a candid shot when she thinks Max isn't looking. Max considers it a small victory.)

Kate and Victoria eventually settle for a midday nap while Chloe and Max are practising volleys back and forth. They settle on an easy rhythm, and Chloe, who's been exiled from the court after practice is over, marvels at Max's progress. The girl of her youth is gone, and in her place is this stranger: confident and so very bright.

There are playlists written in her heart for the people she so dearly loves. Joyce: fun musical numbers, instrumentals and lullabies—the kind of list she’d listen to on a rainy day, sheets of paper strewn around her, a smoke safely tucked away on a nearby ash tray as she steamrolls through her schoolwork. David: punk rock and heavy metal—the kind she’d put on full volume at some godawful hour when she’s feeling angry at the world—but also percussion, alive and frenetic and _theirs_. A shared passion. Max: cheesy 90s and unrequited love songs—the kind of emo trash that’s in every teenager’s closet. And later: guitar and country music—indie hipster bullshit that she’d willingly suffer through because this was so unapologetically Max. The girl she’d fallen in love with at age twelve. The girl she’s falling in love with at age nineteen.

The realization of it hits her like a volleyball to the face, and when the metaphor becomes a reality, Max is immediately by her side, warm and concerned and so, so very sweet that the urge to kiss her makes Chloe laugh all the harder. She makes excuses to hold Max’s hand for the rest of the day—the bruised eye makes for a convincing prop—and serenades Max until Victoria, awake and exasperated, threatens to kill her (a recurring theme).

They head home together, singing half-remembered songs, exchanging memories to fill in the five-year gap. Chloe marvels at the way Max lights up when they talk about volleyball, and feels a little blessed that she gets to share this passion with everyone that she's ever loved.

She kisses Max's palm before they separate, lips lingering over newly-formed calluses, and delights at the sight of her childhood best friend blushing like a school girl with a crush. It's a heady rush, and Max's returning kiss—sweet and over far too quickly—makes Chloe think of a Bluebird taking flight, fingertips brushing against the seam of a volleyball. It's the greatest feeling in the world, much like hitting a spike at just the right angle. And those well. Those take practice to perfect.


End file.
